New Every Morning
by funniefriend1245
Summary: Of all of the possible endings to "Voldemort is after you and your family," James hasn't expected this one. It should be Lily who survived, not himself. Nevertheless, he's alive. And he has a toddler to raise. Oh, and Sirius is in Azkaban, Remus hates him, and he has no idea what to do. But when you've hit rock bottom, the only way out is up.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

I love JKR, I really do. But some of her - ah - choices that she's published on Pottermore and Twitter are...let's say, questionable. (Need I say more? Please refer to the fact that adult wizards apparently shat themselves pre-modern plumbing. Puh-lease.) Therefore, I'm choosing to ignore much of the post-series content and am focusing on what we know from the original seven books. However, for convenience's sake, I have chosen to keep some bits from her online content; specifically, much of the Potter family tree.

I'm also certain that I've borrowed much from Anne B. Walsh's epic, the Dangerverse series (go check it out, seriously). Anne, if you're reading this, I'm flattered. Also, if you want me to credit you for or change anything I inadvertently stole from you, let me know and I'll rectify it immediately.

* * *

Hagrid stared at the ruins of the house.

He couldn't believe what had happened the past two hours – except the evidence was there in front of him. The house where he had eaten so many meals, attended so many clandestine meetings, shared so many laughs – gone.

And so, he was sure, were the people inside of it.

It was with a heavy heart that the half-giant made his way through the gate and up the walk to the house. He didn't bother trying to squeeze through the door; instead, he just chose the largest gap in the wall and slid through it.

It was as bad as he had feared. The home was a mess. Hagrid's heart sank as his final hopes were dashed. He knew it had been unlikely that anyone would survive You-Know-Who once he decided to find them, but then again, the Potters had already escaped him a couple times before. If anyone could have, it would be them.

He scanned the living room and his heart sank even further as he noticed a dark shape on the floor that could be only one thing. He stepped carefully over to it – him, he noticed – and bent to check for what he knew to be true.

* * *

Someone was saying his name.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, but that was the first thing that filtered through the haze that the really nasty curses left in his mind.

"Ngh. Whozair" he said, or tried to.

"James!" Someone large was bent over him, manhandling him into a sitting position. "Wha' – wha' _happened_?"

"Hagrid," he said in recognition. "I don't...why are you here?"

"Yeh don' remember?" Hagrid's worried face loomed in front of him. "Blimey, yeh're bleedin', here." He pulled one of his massive handkerchiefs from a pocket and pressed a corner of it to the back of James' head. "We – Dumbledore got word that..." He hesitated. "Well, we 'eard that, that You-Know-Who was – that he came 'ere, and Dumbledore sent me to...to recover you."

"Voldemort," James corrected automatically, applying pressure to his newly-discovered head wound. Then he remembered. "_Voldemort_. Lily – Harry – _no_." He tried to stand and run for his family, but his legs failed him and he would have fallen if it weren't for his massive friend. "Hagrid, he was here, he – they–" he stammered, and then was sick, nearly choking on it. "They're gone, aren't they," he finally managed.

Tears were trickling down Hagrid's cheeks into his beard, but his voice was steady when he said "I dunno, James. I already found one person when I weren't expectin' none. Don' – don' get your hopes up though," he added as an afterthought.

James got much more carefully to his feet, with Hagrid's help. "Need my wand," he muttered distractedly. "Hagrid, could you?"

Hagrid looked startled to have been asked. He pulled out his pink umbrella and muttered "_Accio_." James' wand came soaring from what had once been the kitchen, to Hagrid's obvious surprise. James fumbled but still managed to catch it.

"Thanks," he said, and already looked better, more in control, with his wand in hand. "Let's – let's just go." He breathed deeply, and seemed to take on more of his _Auror Potter_ persona. "Cover my six," he instructed, and picked through the house, wand drawn. He scanned the area constantly, and checked every corner before he walked through.

A baby cried. James nearly dropped his newly-acquired wand and would have ran through the house if not for Hagrid's quick hand on the back of his robes. He felt himself being hoisted into the air and turned around to Hagrid's glower.

"Don' go getting yerself killed," he growled. "I thought I lost yeh once tonight, yeh're stayin' smart till we're back at Hogwarts."

James' hands clenched into fists, but he breathed deeply twice and nodded. "Why don't you go first," he said, and they switched places.

Hagrid crept through the house with as much care as James had, though possibly with more speed. The wails from what had to be the nursery were getting quieter, the sounds of a baby who didn't think anyone was coming anymore. He reached the nursery and checked it, then moaned softly at the sight that met his eyes.

Lily was there, clearly dead. Harry was in his crib, snuffling softly, though he wailed and lifted his arms to Hagrid at the sight of him. James pushed past him and ran to Harry, whose sobs had wound down into a trail of "Pa pa pa pa pa.." as he nuzzled into his father's chest. Then James turned around.

"No," he gasped, and collapsed to his knees. One hand, almost automatically, pressed Harry's head to his chest, keeping the boy from seeing his dead mother. "Lily – no."

Hagrid retrieved another handkerchief – a clean one – and draped it over Lily's form. He knelt next to James and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Come to Hogwarts," he said as gently as he could. "Dumbledore'll be able to – to keep her safe, for now." He winced at his own words, at the inadequacy of them, but James sobbed once and then regained his composure. He nodded and stumbled to his feet once again. Hagrid pulled an ordinary kettle from his pocket and set it on the ground, before gathering Lily in his arms. James stumbled to the kettle and laid his hand against it, waiting. Hagrid cradled the slight woman in one arm and instead of touching the kettle put his other arm around James, holding the young man to his side. James looked up at Hagrid, but placed the Portkey between their bodies just before it glowed blue and they were pulled away in a whirlwind of color.

* * *

Thanks to Shelllessturtle for the help.

This has been a labor of love for two years now. I've got a _lot _written in this 'verse, and I fully intend to finish it. I can't promise speedy updates, but I _do_ promise that it will reach completion someday. Thanks for reading! If you liked it, please tell me!


	2. Chapter 2

In which Minerva McGonagall is The Actual Best.

Thanks to all who have followed and reviewed! I'm really excited for this story.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so many conflicting emotions at once.

(Probably her own Hogwarts days, if she was honest with herself.)

The facts, then:

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was...gone. Vanished. Dead? It was almost too much to hope for, though she knew that the celebrations had already started.

Lily Evans - Lily Potter - was dead. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must have killed her before he was...indisposed.

James Potter was alive. He shouldn't be, if Hagrid's report was to be believed.

And little Harry was alive too. You-Know-Who couldn't kill that little boy. After so many gruesome, tragic murders, he failed to destroy a one-year-old. Why? Why Harry and James, and no one else?

Sirius - Black, she told herself - must be the traitor. She couldn't believe it; he and James had been best of friends. Black had wormed his way into her heart the minute the Hat had shouted "Gryffindor!" so many years ago. He was the last person she would have suspected of betraying the Potters. Although with a family like his, it shouldn't have been that much a surprise. The old ways of thought must have caught up with him. That or they had convinced him to believe the deranged madness. And of course, actual madness wasn't out of the realm of possibility; so many of the pureblooded families were so inbred these days that mental and physical problems were manifesting themselves every day.

Enough thinking. Minerva McGonagall was fiercely protective of those that were hers, and James Potter had snuck into her heart with his charm, his devil-may-care ways, with his Quidditch skills, and most importantly with his dedication to the Light and devotion to his little family. He'd told her once, dazed and semi-coherent, that she was like his second mum, after his own had died too soon.

And now, with Lily gone…

She hurried to fasten her dressing-gown. She didn't know how James was, exactly, but it couldn't be good.

She Flooed straight to the hospital wing, rather than walking.

It was as bad as she could have imagined. Minerva had never seen him look so young and alone, even when he was eleven years old and homesick for the very first time. Not even losing his parents when he himself was barely an adult gave him the scared, lost look in his eyes.

She realized then that, for the first time in his life, he was completely alone. Even when the elder Potters had died, he had surrounded himself with those whom he loved. Recently, he and Black had started ostracizing themselves from poor Remus Lupin - probably a cruel plot by Black to destroy all of the Marauders - and Peter Pettigrew was nowhere to be found. He had been skittish and withdrawn recently at Order meetings; had he known or suspected Black's true nature? Someone ought to check on him and get him to safety.

The young man - still practically a boy - turned and seemed to stare straight through her.

"James?" she tried softly.

He didn't move, except to sway slightly from side to side. Little Harry was cradled in his arms, fast asleep. She wasn't sure if it was an instinctive reaction to holding his son or if it was due to shock.

"James," she said again, "Do you need Madam Pomfrey?"

He shook his head, confused. "I, I don't..."

Minerva made a decision. "Give me Harry," she said, and thank Merlin that there was still some part of his brain that registered she was someone who must be obeyed, because he passed the sleeping child over without any fuss. Minerva conjured a crib and laid Harry in it, and with a second wave of her wand set it rocking gently. When Harry was settled, she guided James to one of the infirmary beds and sat him on it. She crouched in front of him, ignoring her knees' protests. (She would pay for it later, but for now she could handle anything.)

"She's gone, Professor," he whispered.

Minerva's heart broke. "I know," she said.

"Peter - he - "

"Shh," she said. "I know. We'll find him."

"And Sirius! Someone should..."

"We're working on it now," Minerva said. "We'll bring him in."

James' eyes filled. "I don't know how I'm going to take care of him," he said, staring at the sleeping baby.

Minerva wiped away the tears that were leaking out of the corner of his eyes. "Leave that worry for another day," she said. "For now, let us take care of you both."

He nodded, and then his face crumpled and his shoulders started shaking. Without a second thought, Minerva McGonagall, formidable Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration professor gathered the boy into her arms and let him cry out the grief and shock and pain of the past six hours.

When he'd cried himself out, she conjured a goblet of water and had him drink. He was quiet and submissive, which disturbed her almost more than the crying or the frantic, semi-coherent rambling. Everyone grieves in their own way, she reminded herself. She put him to bed, then conjured a chair for herself and prepared to stand watch. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, though she doubted she'd ever feel the weight of guard duty quite the same way ever again.

She was there when Albus arrived, looking somber. He conjured a chair for himself and sat down heavily in it; a far cry from his usual composed air.

"So it's true," she said. She didn't need to hear his words to know that Lily Potter would no longer walk this earth.

Dumbledore bowed his head in remembrance.

Minerva covered her mouth with a hand. "Oh, Albus, I knew it was true, but I'd so hoped..." She took a moment to gather herself. "And what of Black or Pettigrew?"

"Their whereabouts are currently unknown," he said. "We have Mundungus Fletcher and Kingsley Shaklebolt on their trail now."

Minerva stared at him. "Really, Albus, of all people - Mundungus Fletcher? I understand Kingsley; he's quite good, but isn't Fletcher somewhat..." she let her voice trail off, unsure how to describe Fletcher. "What about Alastor Moody, or Hestia Jones?"

"Mundungus knows the less-savory parts of the country better than anyone else in the Order," Dumbledore said, eyes regaining some of their usual twinkle. "Kingsley can track a criminal with the best of the Aurors, but the best criminals know how to elude the best Aurors." His smile disappeared. "As for Alastor and Hestia, we have them tracking several known Death Eaters that are still at large. Recovering Pettigrew and apprehending Black will happen, but they are rather low priorities for the time being."

Minerva nodded, satisfied.

"How are the Potters?" Dumbledore asked.

Minerva sighed. "As well as can be expected," she said at last. "Harry seems to have fallen asleep, but James..." She shook her head. "He's in shock, I think, at losing Lily and Black in the same day."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "It is to be expected. Black has truly wounded us all. Did James tell you anything that might inform us as to what happened?"

She shook her head. "He knows that he was betrayed, and he is concerned for his friends. The boy's exhausted, Albus, and I for one don't think it a good idea to wake him quite yet." She leveled a stern look at the headmaster over James' sleeping form.

"I agree," Dumbledore said, and Minerva relaxed somewhat. "We needn't wake him quite yet. But tomorrow..." he trailed off. "Tomorrow shall take care of itself." He stood and vanished his chair. "Please inform me immediately when he wakes. I am going to wait for news."

Minerva stood as well to walk Albus to the door. As they passed Harry's crib, Dumbledore stopped and gazed at the small face.

There was a lightning bolt cut on his forehead.

* * *

Thanks to my lovely beta, Shelllessturtle.

Don't forget to review!


	3. Chapter 3

Happy Tax Day to my fellow Americans! The rest of you, have a good Monday!

* * *

James didn't remember what he said to Dumbledore, when the man finally came to talk to him.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew that he told the headmaster that Voldemort came for he and Harry and Lily. He said that he tried to distract Voldemort; told Lily to _"Take Harry and run!"_ but that the evil wizard just laughed and cursed him. He didn't remember anything until he woke up in a destroyed house with Hagrid. He wasn't focused on his words, just on the steady pressure of McGonagall's hand in his and Harry's mostly-cheerful babble.

He knew that the jet of light had been green. He _knew_ it.

How had he survived?

Something to think about later. Dumbledore had called for an emergency Order meeting, and had very politely asked James if he could be there. Minerva quietly rebuked Dumbledore, but James stopped her. One did not refuse the Headmaster of Hogwarts, after all.

* * *

They called the meeting at the Longbottom's home. It was chaos at first: Neville and Harry ran round between people's legs, people shouted questions, others held private conversations, loved ones reunited. Hestia and Elphias muttered quietly in a corner. Mad-Eye scowled into his hip flask and prodded Augusta's supper suspiciously. Alice was still pale and drawn, and seemed close to tears the entire night. Not a surprise. She had been close with Lily.

Dumbledore arrived with the rest of the faculty who were Order members just as Alice started chivvying the small gang of Order children out of the room. The chaos, if anything, multiplied. People shouted questions, each clamoring to make their voices heard.

"Dumbledore, is it true?"

"Has he gone?"

"Are the Potters all right?"

"Is You-Know-Who dead?"

Dumbledore held out his hands and a tense silence spread over the assembly.

"Thank you," he said. "First, to answer the question you are all asking, yes. Voldemort seems to have gone."

People muttered to each other, but Moody barked, "What d'you mean, he _seems to have_ gone?"

Dumbledore sighed. "That is not yet clear, Alastor. I shall be looking into it with all the resources at my disposal."

Somewhere in his mind, James registered that this must be Dumbledore-speech for _I haven't the faintest bloody clue. _

"The next order of business," Dumbledore said loudly over the hubbub, then waited for the noise to die down again. "Thank you. The next order of business is that although we do not know exactly what has happened to Voldemort, we know what led up to his disappearance. Professor McGonagall, if you would please report."

Minerva stood. "At approximately eight-thirty last night," she said, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked yet another home - the Potters. He entered, and cast the Killing Curse on each of the occupants."

"Get to the point, woman," Moody growled, though not unkindly.

Minerva shot him a glare over her spectacles. "For reasons still unknown, he was unable to kill James, and it seems that when he attempted to kill Harry, the curse rebounded. He is gone."

"And Lily?" someone asked hopefully.

She did not speak, but only shook her head.

The muttering increased. The words _Secret-Keeper_ and _Black_ and _traitor_ seemed to be the most popular words.

"We are still searching for Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew," Dumbledore said. "Mundungus and Kingsley are on their tail now, and have informed me that they have nearly caught up to them." He sighed softly and seemed to age fifty years with the exhalation.

"Next," Dumbledore started, but then stared at the lynx Patronus which had just materialized.

"Black en route to Azkaban," it said in Kingsley's deep, slow voice. "Pettigrew dead. Unknown number of Muggles killed." It disappeared.

There was silence for three seconds, and then the room erupted into shouting questions. Dumbledore had to release a loud bang, complete with purple smoke from his wand before the crowd was silent.

"Thank you," he said. "Obviously we do not know what the next step will be, although the evidence points to prison. Will someone please inform Mrs. Pettigrew?"

"I'll do it," volunteered someone, but something finally clicked in James' mind.

"Sirius isn't the traitor," he blurted.

People stared at him. He ignored them.

"Professor Dumbledore - you have to believe me - it was Peter, he was the Secret-Keeper - it wasn't Sirius..." he faltered at Dumbledore's worried gaze. "I'm not lying," he said angrily.

Minerva leaned over to Dumbledore and muttered something. James couldn't hear exactly what she said, but... "I am not Confunded," he snapped. "Or concussed either," he added for good measure.

"My dear boy, we cannot be certain of that unless -"

"SIRIUS IS NOT THE TRAITOR," James bellowed, aware that he was making a scene and absurdly grateful that Harry was upstairs with the other Weasley children. "IT WAS PETER PETTIGREW ALL ALONG, WE SWITCHED ON PURPOSE - IT WAS WORMTAIL'S IDEA, HE'S THE ONE YOU WANT, SIRIUS IS -"

He was abruptly Silenced, and when he tried to undo the charm on himself, his wand was yanked from his hand by an invisible Expelliarmus.

"Get 'hold of yourself, Potter," Mad-Eye said, in exactly the same tone he used on trainee Aurors. "We don't know anything yet, and this ruckus isn't going to solve anything."

James took several deep breaths, but nodded. Moody shoved his wand back in his hand, and he undid the Silencer. "What do I have to do to convince you," he asked in a voice that was deliberately not a shout.

* * *

It turned out that what James needed to do was submit to a very lengthy Legilimency session with Dumbledore and several mind healers, consent to questioning under Veriteraserum, and endure a motherly scolding from Minerva before anyone was close to convinced.

His next step was to convince the legal system, a task which could take several months, he was informed by an apologetic Arthur Weasley. The Weasleys weren't officially part of the Order, not with so many children at home, but Arthur was sympathetic and unofficially served as an additional point of contact with the Ministry.

_Hang on, Sirius,_ he thought at his best friend. _Hang on. I'm coming for you._

* * *

Thanks as always to Shelllessturtle!

I'm going to keep the Monday posting schedule as long as I can. However, when I run out of new chapters to post, there'll probably be a bit of a break in new chapters. I write ahead, and I don't want to write something in chapter 15 that I need to change in chapter 26 (or whatever). I'm still writing this thing every day, though, so hopefully it'll be a short break!

Thanks for the follows and comments! They're like a hug wrapped in a perfectly brewed cup of tea served alongside warm chocolate chip cookies and they make my day. Keep 'em coming!


	4. Chapter 4

It was three days since the disastrous Order meeting, and James' nightmares were getting steadily worse. Several times a night, he woke in a cold sweat, shaking and gasping, not screaming only because of his training. They were on some kind of vicious rotation. His worst memories seemed to have been combined with all of the what-ifs, and they propelled him awake with his wand in his hand.

The worst by far though, was when he dreamed of Peter. But not Peter-the-traitor, Peter-the-Marauder. Peter, the boy who had tripped into their compartment on the train; the teenager who had finally, after _years_ of hard work and practice, managed to transform into the rat animagus; the young man with whom they had laughed at Order meetings; their Secret-Keeper, entrusted with his and his family's welfare.

Peter-The-Marauder was usually killed in these dreams, ripped apart from the inside, or burned, or blown up. James thought that it was probably symbolic of something, but he couldn't bring himself to care what.

The only mercy was that Harry seemed to be doing okay, mostly. He usually slept through the night, wet nappies aside, and seemed to take great delight in having a constant stream of visitors who wanted to see him and James.

He always toddled back to James, though, or shrieked until whoever was holding him shoved him back into his dad's arms.

"It's just you and me now, mate," James told Harry most nights before tucking him into bed. "Just the two of us blokes. We're the Potter men, and we're going to have a hell of a time of it." He paused, remembering how Lily couldn't stand swearing, especially in front of the baby. "Anyway, we've going to need to be strong. But don't worry, I'll be right there doing it all with you."

And Harry released a torrent of baby-talk, put his hands on James' face, and giggled.

* * *

The funeral service was a blur. They buried her in the churchyard in Godric's Hollow - a Muggle/Magical town, the best of both Lily's world and James'.

He didn't hear a word the minister said. Instead, he tried to watch those around him, as surreptitiously as he could. It was difficult. As the bereaved, he was front and center with Harry. He used a squirmy fifteen-month-old's antics as cover to watch those around him. The entire Order appeared for Lily's funeral, and several other people that James remembered - mostly from his school days. The entire Weasley clan arrived, scrubbed neat and tidy. Aberforth Dumbledore, looking rumpled but clean. Even Petunia arrived, in a black dress and decidedly uncomfortable around all the _freaks_. She didn't bring her walrus of a husband, though she had an enormously fat baby with her, around Harry's age.

Snape didn't arrive, for which James was decidedly grateful. His appearance, he was sure, would have thrown him into what his mother would have called a _state_.

Enough dawdling. He took a deep breath and stared at the casket. Lily was there. Lily was there, and she was smiling, but not. Her face was frozen into a bland, pleasant expression that was nothing like the real Lily. _His_ Lily was fire and laughter and love, warm and bright and cheerful and most of all, _alive_. This generic mask belonged to no one that he knew. Least of all, his Lily.

And suddenly, it struck him. This was really it for them. He wouldn't see his Lily again. He wouldn't be able to kiss her, or eat her delicious cooking. The siblings for Harry that they'd always talked about would never "come along when we're ready," as she put it. The life they'd had was gone, for good.

She would never see that snaky bastard be put down.

She would never reconcile with Petunia, or even Sniv - _Severus_. She was really and truly gone.

He wept his grief and pain out, but this was controlled, cleansing. He wouldn't ever _not_ miss Lily, but he knew - he hoped, anyway - that one day he might be able to smile at the thought of her.

* * *

They held the funeral luncheon at Bathilda Bagshot's home. A certain mourner turned away at the churchyard gates, ready to Disapparate, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Remus."

He stiffened. "Professor McGonagall."

"Aren't you coming to the luncheon?" Her voice was choked with tears, but Merlin, her eyes were just as sharp as they had been when he was sixteen and thought he was invincible.

"I don't think it would be a good idea."

"And why not?" Ah, now _that_ was the Minerva McGonagall he knew and had grown to love.

"I just don't think it would be prudent."

"Remus Lupin, I lived through your seven years at Hogwarts, and somehow, this is the most ridiculous thing that I have ever heard you say," she snapped. He winced, and tried very hard to not straighten like an errant schoolboy. "That young man - who is one of your closest friends - that young man has lost everything, and you will not walk away from him in his time of need. For Merlin's sake, you need each other."

He glared - _finally using that Gryffindor courage, Lupin?_ \- and said through his teeth, "What I do and with whom I associate is no longer your concern, Professor." And he Disapparated, feeling nothing, only longing to get away.

He landed in front of the dingy little flat that he and Sirius had once shared. He trudged through his door and up the stairs, and Summoned a bottle of whatever liquor was nearest. It tasted terrible.

He took another swig.

* * *

Padfoot the dog whined in Sirius Black's cell in Azkaban. He didn't feel the despair as acutely as the rest of the prisoners, but his animal instincts urged him to leave. _Predator. Not safe. Find the pack._ The image accompanying this was a motley assortment of stag, rat, and wolf, but Padfoot shook his head vigorously. The human part of his mind knew that one was a traitor, another would never trust him again, and the third was dead. It was his fault, but he swore that one day he would get out - and the rat would pay.

* * *

Sorry bout the delay, folks! My husband and I celebrated our wedding anniversary yesterday. Reviews make great anniversary gifts ;)


	5. Chapter 5

"I need to get out of the castle," James said, and squared his shoulders. It had been a week since Lily's funeral and Harry was safe in Poppy Pomfrey's office, so James had gone to visit Minerva for a cup of tea and to mark spelling on a stack of third year essays.

Minerva didn't even look up from her roll of parchment. "I think you may be right," she said. She nudged the tin of ginger newts closer to James, and he took one, feeling a little let down.

"I don't mean that I'm ungrateful," he started, but Minerva stopped him.

"Of course you're not ungrateful," she said. Her expression could only be described as _fondly exasperated_. "You loved school and you loved the castle, but you no longer live here. You're not a student, but you're far too young to be a parent or a professor. In a certain sense, Hogwarts will always be home, but it's not where you belong right now."

James tried not to look as awestruck - and sad - as he felt. "I think that settles it, Professor, you really do know everything."

Minerva did not smile, though it looked like it took effort. "I _was_ your Head of House for seven years, Mr. Potter."

"Yeah," he said, and stared through the parchment comparing the relative difficulties of Transfiguring vertebrate vs. invertebrate aquatic animals.

"But that's not the only reason," she guessed, and James sighed and pushed away the essay.

"I don't much fancy seeing Professor Dumbledore," he said.

Minerva nodded and set aside her own essays. "I suspected so," she said. She got up from her desk and opened a cupboard, and doctored first her tea then James' with a dollop of Firewhiskey. "Why don't you want to see the Headmaster?"

"Why don't you tell me?" he asked, with humor he didn't feel.

"I think you need to hear yourself say it," she chided, and James glowered into his tea.

"I lost my head during that Order meeting," he said.

"Everyone's lost their head at an Order meeting, James," Minerva said. "I think it's something else, and I think you know it."

James glowered. "I don't - I don't know how much I trust him right now," he finally said, like a confession. "Not - I don't think he's _Dark_, he started the Order - but I don't know if I want him in my head right now."

Minerva nodded. "I suspected so."

"But mostly," he said, "I need to think of Harry. They're already calling him the _Boy Who Lived_ -" he made sure to put the proper quota of scorn into that moniker "- and he needs his dad. I can't _forget_ about Lily - I don't think anyone could - but I also, I need to, to get on with my own life." He took a deep breath. "And there're people who would love to keep a close eye on my son, because Voldemort couldn't kill him."

"Yes, the students are quite taken with the rumors that are flying around. One of my Fourth Years was convinced that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had finally developed a shred of human sympathy. Another tried telling me that this meant that Potter males were immune to the Killing Curse."

James buried his head in his hands. "I don't know which of those is more ridiculous," he moaned behind his fingers. He looked up hopefully. "D'you think you could...? I mean..."

Minerva snorted. "If I spent my time chasing rumors, I'd never do anything else. The students will find another passing fancy, as soon as the next _Witch Weekly_ or _Best Broomstick_ is out."

James gave her a pained look. "Voldemort's fall is a lot more important - why don't they -"

"Because they're teenagers, James. Their world is as narrow as what's in front of them. They laugh and cry at the drop of a hat, and the most important things to them are which couples have paired off, Quidditch standings, and the exam they don't know that I've set for next week." She gave him a sharp look over her spectacles. "I remember when the only things on _your_ mind were beating Slytherin and chasing Lily Evans."

James ignored the stinging in his eyes and tried for a grin. "And pranking the venerable Minerva McGonagall, of course."

"But of course," she said, voice dry as parchment. She finally set aside the essays and ink, and cast a quick _scourgify_ on her quill. "Start asking questions. Where do you want to live? Do you want a magical, village, Muggle, or some combination?"

James eyed her suspiciously. "Are you...helping me _house-hunt_?"

"My purview as an educator does not end at your commencement," she said loftily. "You needn't answer, but these are things to think about. What about the structure? A flat, or a house? Would you build or purchase?"

James sighed. "I don't want to go back to Godric's," he said slowly. "Lily's still too close, and I don't think I can - can handle that right now." He wiped his eyes roughly and considered some of her other questions. "I dunno if I'd like to build, either. It would take too long." He winced as he thought of the havoc that a magical toddler could (and already had) cause. "I think a house would be easier to hide accidental magic, too." He could teach Harry to fly, and Sirius could keep a garden - unless he would rather live elsewhere. He hoped Padfoot would stay with them, anyway. "Plus, we could build a strongroom for Remus, for the...the full moons..."

Oh, Merlin, Moony.

He hadn't spoken to Remus in months.

James looked up at Minerva, stricken. "I need to find Remus," he said hoarsely. "I need to - Merlin, I need to find a way to apologize for being a great bloody idiot, I can't believe what a _prat_ I was." He stood. "Can I use your fireplace?"

Minerva stood as well and grabbed his shoulders. "Sit down, it's the full moon tonight."

"I'll be fine," he said, already envisioning fur and antlers and long, graceful limbs, but Minerva gripped hard and he winced slightly.

"You may have misjudged your friend, James, but getting yourself killed will _not_ help," she snapped, and James realized where he was, and what exactly he was proposing. "We have someone scheduled to visit tomorrow morning, but until then, Remus is on his own."

He nodded, feeling almost lightheaded. "I...you're right. I just, I guess I forgot," he said lamely.

There was something in her stare that James didn't want to think about, but she simply nodded her head once, and pressed a ginger newt into his hands.

"You know, Professor," he said, grinning a little, "if you'd taught every student like that, there wouldn't be a single failing mark in any of your classes."

* * *

Elsewhere, a wolf howled angrily. He was so hungry. He hurt everywhere, but most of all in his chest. The others, the ones that always joined him for these nights were gone.

He wanted them, but a voice told him that they would never come again, and it was a bitter hurt that fueled the wolf's rage that night.

* * *

I saw Endgame this weekend. A damn good movie.

Thanos demands your silence.


	6. Chapter 6

James knocked on the door and held his breath. The day after the full moon was always hit-or-miss, whether Remus would be well or not...

"Announce yourself," came a hoarse voice, and James braced himself.

"My name is James Tiberius Potter, though I go by the nickname Prongs. I know that you, Remus John Lupin, go by Moony, particularly once a month, and that is a nickname that myself and two others gave you when we were thirteen."

No answer. James stood outside the flat's battered door for what felt like several minutes, listening anxiously. He finally picked up his bags and turned to go when the lock opened with a soft click.

It wasn't worse than he could have imagined (he'd been there when Sirius almost got Snape killed, after all), but it was still bad. The flat was dark, and there were pieces of broken furniture scattered on the floor. Remus himself was hunched protectively around himself on the sofa, which looked as though the only thing holding it together was a weak Reparo. He was wrapped in old, threadbare blankets, shivering madly, and he was at the very least shirtless.

The men stared at one another for a long moment. Finally, James broke the silence.

"Wotcher, Moony."

Remus stared warily. "James." He shifted, and James averted his gaze - Remus wasn't wearing any trousers, or pants for that matter - "Where's Harry?"

"Poppy Pomfrey's got him."

"Good, then I can say this without fearing Lily's wrath from beyond the grave: Fuck off, Potter."

James winced. "I suppose I deserve that."

Remus snorted. "I suppose you're right," he mocked.

"I wanted to apologize," James said, determined to repair the bridge with his old friend. "I understand you're pissed - I don't blame you for that - but if you don't want to hear it, then I won't bother saying it." He held out the bags of takeaway that he'd picked up. "But I figured you'd want a spot of breakfast. There isn't anything I can do to fix this," he said hastily at Remus' murderous expression. "I just thought you'd be hungry. That's it."

Remus eyed him warily for another long moment, then sat up silently and held out his hand for the bags of food. James handed them over and watched Remus tuck into the eggs, bangers, and toast with zeal. After they left school, the Marauders had discovered that Remus was starving after each transformation. It made sense, though, that completely changing shape twice in a night left him feeling half-starved.

James nibbled on a couple leftover rashers and anxiously tried to think of what to say to his friend. Moony finally dropped the last of the takeaway boxes. He looked - well, not good, but better, like he'd taken several steps away from the edge of death.

"Well?" Remus asked, and James sighed. The truth, then.

"I wasn't thinking, Moony," he said quietly. "I wish I had an excuse - any excuse - for what we did, but I don't." He shifted anxiously, wanting to pace, though he knew that Remus would immediately be put on the defensive if he did. "I was scared because Voldemort was coming after Lily and Harry, and I didn't know who to trust."

"We've been friends for ten years, James, that didn't clue you in?" Remus asked bitterly.

"I was stupid," James said. "I let Malfoy get in my head, and I just didn't think."

Remus sat up and stared. "For Merlin's sakes, James, you let Lucius Malfoy screw with your head, but you didn't think about the evidence?" He shook his head. "You really are stupider than you look."

The words were the joking ones that the Marauders had used countless times before, but the tone was hard and cold.

"It's not an excuse," James said finally. "I'm not trying to make an excuse. I was wrong, and I'm sorry." He opened his mouth once or twice to add more, but thought better of it, and simply kept his extra thoughts to himself.

The two men stayed where they were for several long minutes. James's head was bowed and his hands were clasped between his knees, while Remus stared blank-faced through James to the wall beyond.

They were some of the longest minutes of James's life.

Finally, finally, Remus spoke.

"I forgive you," he said quietly.

James looked up, but Remus still was staring off into space.

"I'm not happy with you - or Sirius, either - but, well, I figure it'll be a hell of a lot more miserable without you than with you."

James shrugged. "I'm just glad to have you back," he said.

"So what's next?" Moony asked after a moment of silence.

James stared into the disgusting carpet. "I get a home for the rest of the Marauders and prove that I'm a suitable guardian for Harry. Then I convince the Wizengamot that Sirius is innocent. Then I go after Lucius Malfoy and put the bastard down for good."

Remus tilted his head. "You don't think that they'll have a problem with the Boy-Who-Lived in a house with a werewolf and an ex-Azkaban resident?" he asked sardonically.

"I think the Ministry will let me have a couple favors after I survived a Voldemort attack," James said.

Remus shook his head. "James, use your head," he said. "The Ministry doesn't care about you; Voldemort could just as easily have Stunned you as cast Avada at you. They care about Harry, and what's best for him. He's the one that made Voldemort disappear, not you."

"I'll prove it," James snapped. "I'll let anyone take a look into my head if it means they'll drop their ridiculous prejudices toward lycanthropy and treat you like a normal person who just has a furry little problem."

"It's not a rabbit, James, it's a curse," Moony said, exhaustedly. "Look at me now. I'm weak, I'm hungry, I'm sitting here starkers in a flat that Mundungus Fletcher would turn his nose up at, and _I'm a werewolf_."

"We can change most of that," James said. "I know you at least own clothes, and we'd get you in a house with a nice basement. Moony can play with Padfoot and Prongs again, we can take care of each other."

"Prongs, I appreciate what you're trying here to do, but I just don't think it's possible," Remus said. "But I appreciate it more than I can say."

James grinned, and blinked hard to keep the lump in his throat down. "I'd hug you, but you at least need to put on pants first," he said.

Remus threw a sheet at him.

* * *

Everyone, wish my beta luck on their finals!


	7. Chapter 7

Severus Snape was _not_ wallowing. Wallowing was for _other_ people, ones that hadn't condemned their only friend to death.

What did his own problems matter? Wizards and witches were finally free from tyranny, after years of disappearances and deaths and unknown circumstances. Cursed people were beginning to wake up, and Death Eaters were going to Azkaban.

The Dark Lord was gone; the Wizarding world rejoiced, but Severus couldn't. Lily was dead.

Lily Evans (right now, he couldn't add the surname _Potter_, even in his head) was dead at the hands of a madman, and it was his fault, Severus's. She had put her trust in the wrong person, and now she was gone. The girl who had shared her sweets, who had invited the ragged boy into her home, his best friend, his Lily...

Severus shook his head violently and added beetle eyes at random to the Dreamless Sleep potion he was stirring. It would probably explode in his face.

He would deserve it.

0o0o0o0

James pulled on his freshly cleaned, bright red Auror robes and observed his reflection in the mirror. He looked...not bad, considering. Hair was as neat as it would ever get, his stubble managed to not look patchy, and his glasses tied everything together. He looked older, like an Auror, and even though he was on light duty until he finished his requalifications, he was ready to be back in the office, working on something meaningful.

It had been three weeks since Lily's death, and James was doing better, he thought. He and Harry had moved into their new home, an airy, open cottage by Tinsworth. There was a cellar (which James had already started strengthening), and a large, expansive garden. The furniture was almost all new, save a couple of pieces that had been salvaged from Godric's Hollow. The little house was starting to feel like a home.

It wasn't perfect - James wasn't sure anything could be perfect again - but it was nice, and quiet, and it was _theirs_.

The morning did not go as pleasantly as James had been expecting.

According to the Auror Office, light duty for a fully-qualified (if junior) Auror meant filing paperwork. And James, like all good Aurors, hated paperwork.

Still though, he spent three distasteful hours sorting reports. He recognized the names on several of them. It looked like they were mostly case files of arrests since Halloween, and there were…a lot of them. Several held names he recognized. Some of them were even Aurors. James wasn't surprised, but whenever he saw an officer's name, he felt a twinge of betrayal. It wasn't right, that someone who had sworn to uphold and follow the law had broken it, and to follow such a madman was even worse.

He took a break to clear his head; maybe walk to the café and buy a Cauldron Cake, but instead of cheering him up, the walk past so many empty offices shot his mood even lower than before.

The day still would have been fine, James maintained, had he not run into Crouch around lunchtime. James had never disliked Crouch, exactly, always tried to remain professionally neutral. Crouch was a stickler, through and through, and while the rulebreaking Marauder spirit had never truly died, James elected to place it on a back burner, so as to not completely burn bridges with the man who was supposed to be the next Minister of Magic.

"My condolences, Potter," Crouch said stiffly as they passed each other in the corridor.

"Thank you, sir," James said, used to the sympathy by now. "Sir," he asked, struck by inspiration, "I've got a question, and I think you're the one who can help me."

"If it is in my power, I shall do what I can," Crouch said, though he seemed somewhat wary.

"Well," James started, feeling somewhat uncomfortable now that he had started speaking, "I was wondering what someone would have to do if they knew that there was an innocent man in Azkaban, and what to do to get him out."

Crouch surveyed him contemptuously. "Potter, that is absurd," he said. "And besides - the Ministry of Magic is far too concerned with catching actual criminals to pay attention to what may - eventually - be described as a slight miscarriage of justice -"

"Excuse me, Mr. Crouch, but what part of 'sent to the Dementors without trial' is only a _slight_ miscarriage of justice?" James interrupted. "Sir, I understand that we are coming off of the greatest war in Wizarding history, but this is ridiculous, to make assumptions and send people to maximum security on an assumption."

"The public needs to feel safe in their own beds!"

"The public needs to know that they won't be unjustly painted as a criminal because of their family!" James bellowed back. "Sir, I absolutely oppose the Dark Arts, but without any sort of trial -"

"The evidence is overwhelming against him, Potter," Crouch said dismissively. "The only one who could have betrayed you and Lily, rest her soul -"

"NO ONE HAS EVEN ASKED ME WHO THE SECRET-KEEPER ACTUALLY WAS," James shouted, more frustrated than he had even been. "Sirius Black did not betray me, he tried to bring the actual criminal to justice, and it backfired on him. I can prove it, Pettigrew was an illegal Animagus, he's a rat, that's how -"

"I WILL NOT BE TOLD OFF IN MY OWN DEPARTMENT," Crouch shouted back, looking quite mad. "Potter, there are actual criminals that the Ministry is catching, and if one man has to wait before the truth is brought to light, then that is what has to happen. I assure you, the Ministry of Magic is performing as well as can be expected under the unusual circumstances."

James clenched his hands, disguising the way they were shaking in anger, and turned on his heel to go back to the Auror office. He had started back on the detestable reports when Mad-Eye Moody sat down on the corner of his desk.

"Not the wisest move, antagonizing Barty Crouch," he said, low and harsh. Moody always spoke as though there was someone listening around the corner.

"He's an idiot," James muttered.

"He's also set to be the next Minister of Magic," Moody said, in the same careful tone of voice. "You need to be careful."

"He needs to do his job and give suspects fair trials," James shot back.

"I'm not saying you're wrong." Mad-Eye stood. "But I _am_ telling you to watch your back 'round here, Potter. Antagonizing powerful men like old Barty isn't the solution, though I will admit that it's damned satisfying."

"What do I do, then?" James asked. He hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"Use your head, Potter," Moody snapped.

James scowled at the blasted reports in front of him, but did not say anything.

"Think about it," Moody said. "Black was an idiot when he went alone after one of Voldemort's followers, but he doesn't deserve the Dementors for that."

James rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Moody," he muttered.

He felt so helpless.

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

It was grey in Azakban.

It was always grey. The people were grey, the food was grey, the walls, the sky, even the ocean. It was all grey, and lifeless, and dull.

Except the Dementors. While the greyness was an absence of life, the Dementors were its direct opponents. Where Azkaban was dull, lifeless by nature, _they _sucked all life away intentionally. Maliciously.

Sirius tried to stop thinking along these lines, but it was...difficult. He didn't have much else to think about.

_James and Lily. Harry. Moony. Pettigrew._

He could no longer remember the happy memories. The list of them were in his mind, as though he had read and memorized a list of facts for Potions. But he had no other memories of them.

_1979\. James and Lily's wedding._

_July 31, 1980. Harry's birthday._

There were more, he knew. But they were intangible, distant, irrelevant.

He closed his eyes as a memory threatened to sweep over him. _No._

_He packed his school bag frantically, knowing he had only minutes to leave. _

"_OUT, GET OUT!" came the shrieks. _

"_You said I had more time," Sirius shouted back. _

"_And that time is gone," Walburga snapped._

"_Funny," Sirius said, terrified but trying not to show it. "Your senility is getting worse, Mother - you've forgotten how to count to ten." _

_He grunted as something struck him - a Stinging Hex, from the feel of it. _

"_Get. Out." Walburga said._

_Sirius took one last look at his room, at the Gryffindor pennants, the photo of the Marauders, the Muggle girls and the motorbikes, and caught another Stinging Hex across his ear for his trouble. _

_He turned and thundered down the stairs, kicking over the troll leg umbrella stand as he went. Another hex slashed him across the neck and he growled. He would _not _show her weakness. _

_He pulled his wand and cast any spells he could think of at all of the dark artifacts scattered through the house, dodging Walburga's hexes and spells as he went. He ran out of the house into the square and looked around. _

_He had nowhere to go._

Sirius sat upright and screamed.

There was nothing else to do, really. Why not follow the crowd, just this once?

* * *

James sat, slumped miserably in an armchair as he listened to Moony settling Harry for a nap. Harry had been fussy and agitated all day, refusing his toys and asking for Lily. And James...he hadn't known what to do, at all.

Moony had walked into a scene of mutual breakdown, and had deftly taken control of the situation. He'd taken Harry for a walk and set James the task of tidying the sitting room.

And now, James sat and stared at the wall.

_Useless_, his mind hissed at him. _Horrible parent. You're nothing without Lily._

Moony emerged and James squashed those thoughts into a box to deal with later.

"How is he?" James asked desperately.

"He'll be fine," Remus said. He was smiling sadly. "We talked about how sometimes, when you can't see something, that doesn't mean it's not with you." His smile broadened. "I don't know how much he truly understood, but he seems to think that Lily is like the sunshine now, and death is like the clouds."

James did not laugh.

"I don't think I can do this, Moony," he said. "I - Merlin, how am I going to raise him? He survived _Voldemort_, and I don't know how I can teach him, or anything. Maybe I should let the Ministry take him, they'll put him in with a good family, and -"

"James, would you listen to yourself?" Remus demanded. "Merlin, that's just - think of the kind of person the Ministry would place Harry with, should you decide you're an unfit parent. They'll want nothing but the best for the Boy-Who-Lived, so into a pureblooded family he'll go; we're talking about Malfoy, Nott, _Walburga Black _of all people - do you really want your son to be raised in that sort of environment?" He stared James down.

"No," James said quietly. "He could go live with Lily's sister..."

"The magic-hating cow? Brilliant plan, Prongs," Remus said.

"What about -"

"James," Remus said firmly. The use of his first name shocked James into silence. It had been years since the Marauders had used one another's given names. "Don't do this."

"I don't see you offering any bright ideas," James snapped.

"Here's an idea for you, then," Remus said. "We keep doing what we're doing. We give him a home where he's loved, and we answer his questions the best we can, and we make sure he's ready for Hogwarts when the time comes." He smiled, a little. "It's all we can do, really."

"You weren't so keen on this idea a couple of weeks ago."

Remus shrugged. "You convinced me. So now I'm convincing you."

James rubbed his hands over his face, nearly dislodging his glasses, and nodded. "You're right, Moony. I'm just scared, I guess."

Remus tilted his head. "I can't see why," he said. "You only had to face the most feared wizard of our time four times, all of which you survived and were not supposed to. You've got a one-year-old who has literally been marked by the same evil wizard. No one knows where that dark wizard has gone, or whether he'll be back, and how soon. You've only had to face betrayal and loss and you're still twenty-one years old."

James swatted at his friend. "You talk like you're Dumbledore's age," he grumbled. "You've had shit you've been up against too."

"Oh, I'm not denying it, or trying to play 'who's got it worse'," Remus said. "I'm just saying that you need to cut yourself some slack, and just be a dad. You do remember how to do that, yeah?"

"Shut it, Moony," James said.

Remus grinned. "How's the sitter search going?" he asked.

James shrugged. "Not great," he admitted. "I'm just too busy to really look for someone. And I still need to pass my recertification exams to get back into active duty." He stared at Remus, consideringly. "Are you still looking for a job?"

It was a moment before the question seemed to register. "Oh, you can't be serious," he said, laughing. "You want _me_ as Harry's nanny?"

"Why not?" James asked. "Harry knows you, he likes you, _I _know you and we're best mates - it's a perfect situation."

Remus paused. "He's a good boy," he admitted.

"Of course he is," James said. "You'd be helping me out a great deal," he said quietly.

Remus smiled halfheartedly. "I'll think about it," he said finally. "I wouldn't do this for nothing though," he warned. "I have a book addiction I must feed."

"Go to the library, then," James suggested. "You spent most of our school days there anyway, you'll be right at home.

He dodged Moony's retaliatory jinx.

* * *

Oof. Poor Sirius.

Please review!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I'm BAAAAACK! Enjoy the extra-long chapter!

Remus spent the week before the trial with Wizarding Family Services trying to get James to sleep, or, if that failed, eat something more than toast and weak tea. When that failed, he deemed it prudent to call in the cavalry.

"I don't know what else to do," Remus said. "He doesn't sleep for more than an hour at a time, and when he _does_, he wakes up screaming. I had to spell Harry's room so sound could get out but not in, and -"

"I understand," Minerva McGonagall said. "Have you tried a Dreamless Sleep?"

Remus stared at Minerva. "No," he said finally. "As a matter of fact, I did not think of the obvious solution."

"Too busy trying to be clever, were you?" She smiled fondly.

"Too busy keeping life from collapsing," Remus said. He looked aggrieved. "It's been _three weeks_, Professor. I don't know when to push back when he's being stubborn and when to be sympathetic. I've been hiding the _Prophet_, because they're publishing newer and more vile rubbish by the day. No one knows what's happening, and right now, I feel like I'm nothing more than a rubbish bin for emotional outbursts. I'm dragged into doing things because it might be what James needs; it's like I'm fourteen again."

"You're doing marvelously," Minerva said. "You're holding this family together, and they're all the better for it. Your friendship is a boon to all of us, and you don't get nearly enough thanks for it." She stood. "Why don't you and Harry go to the park, while I speak with James." She hesitated. "Perhaps you should consider speaking with someone with more experience in these matters."

"I...will think about it," Remus said, eyes bright. "Thank you, Professor."

000

Minerva sent Remus and Harry down the walk with a wave. When they were gone, she settled herself in the kitchen and put the kettle on. Tea made difficult conversations easier.

Ten minutes after Minerva poured her first cup, there was a thud, a muffled swear, and then the sound of running from upstairs. James emerged seconds later, disheveled and wand out.

Minerva's heart broke to look at him. He was grey and haggard, enormous dark circles under his eyes.

"Harry," he said, frantic. "Where's-"

"Remus took him to the park," Minerva said. "Tea?" She didn't wait for a response and flicked her wand at the tea service, which obligingly served James.

James didn't sit so much as he fell into the chair opposite Minerva. "_Why_?" he asked.

"Because you're still putting yourself back together, and we all need help when that happens," she said.

James looked unconvinced. "I need to be strong-"

"You do not," she said firmly. She closed her eyes and thought of all of the people she had lost. None of her losses, she realized, had been as total as James's. "You mustn't hide yourself away," she said.

"Why not?" James folded his arms and stared at the table. "I'm not much good these days; it's not as though anyone would notice."

"That's not true." Minerva pointed at a photo of Harry on the wall. "Harry needs you. Remus needs you."

"They'd be fine without me."

"They most certainly would _not_."

James's head snapped up to look at her.

"You listen to me right now, James Potter. No matter what you think, you are good and valued and wanted here, right now. Our lives would be significantly diminished without you. You have done and will continue to do great things, starting with raising your son and reuniting old friends." She grasped his hand. "But you can't do that if you hide from the world forever."

"I'm scared, Professor," he whispered. "And I'm failing everyone."

"How do you mean?" Minerva asked. She knew that James was decidedly _not _in a good space to discuss this, but, well, sometimes one just needed to purge that which was poison.

"Sirius is in prison and it's my fault," he said, and Minerva bit back the diatribe that threatened to spill out, full of words like _interference_ and _incompetence_ and _scapegoats_. "And Remus is...he's different, he's not like when we were in school."

"You've grown up significantly from when you were seventeen," Minerva said carefully.

"Yes, but I mean-" he ran a furious hand through his hair. It trembled minutely when he placed it on the table. "It's...strained, our friendship; it's tight, it's…" he shook his head, frustrated. "He shouldn't have to take care of me, but he is, and I don't think he's very happy about it."

Minerva thought she understood. "Would a full night's sleep help, do you think?" She handed him the vial of Dreamless Sleep potion.

James stared at it, and Minerva saw the moment that the label registered. "I-maybe," he said. He stared at it some more. Then he nodded. "All right."

000

By the morning of the trial, James was significantly better. He'd gotten a full night's sleep, and had started eating again. On the morning of the trial, James woke feeling apprehensive, but ready to stand before Wizarding Family Court. He had prepared extensively for the trial with Minerva, and he was ready. Her words rang in his mind as he dressed and forced down his breakfast.

"Do not bring up Sirius," she had said, repeatedly. "This is Family Services, and they are not prepared to discuss prisoner release or wrongful imprisonment. Furthermore, that shall be seen as a distraction on your part, and may convince certain people that the Ministry need interfere in your lives."

"But it isn't right," James had fumed.

"And while I agree with you, the Ministry has expedited things so as to not place Harry under any sort of foster care. Family Services is one of the few areas of the Ministry that is mostly-staffed. Every department is overworked with trying criminals, and unfortunately, Minister Bagnold has decided that Sirius makes a very appealing scapegoat."

James's anger had been difficult to contain at that.

"Think of it this way," Minerva had said, "should you prove competent and level-headed, the Ministry will continue to listen to you for more severe cases."

James had fumed, but his anger cooled to barely-glowing embers - contained, but ready to ignite.

But now, as he waited for their group to be called into chambers, James could think only of Harry.

"You're sure they'll let me keep him?" he muttered to Minerva.

"If they rule unjustly, I shall flee with him to America myself," she said staunchly, and James nodded shakily. Finally, they were called into chambers.

"Are we assembled, then?" James, along with McGonagall and Dumbledore nodded. "Very well, then let's get started, shall we?" and Madam Bones rapped her gavel twice sharply.

James took a deep breath. He was still nervous, and tried not to show it.

"Do be calm," Minerva muttered.

"This is intended to be a short hearing through Wizarding Family Services regarding young Harry James Potter and the suitability of Mr. James Tiberius Potter, his father by blood, to retain guardianship of Master Harry Potter," Madam Bones said, and James nodded again. "Present are Mr. James Potter himself, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, of which Mr. Potter is a recent graduate; and Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts School and Head of Gryffindor House, to which Mr. Potter belonged while he was a student at said school. Is this correct?"

"Correct, Madam Bones," Dumbledore said.

"Very well," she said, and flipped a parchment. "Also present are Court Scribe, Mrs. Patrice Edgecombe; and myself, Madam Amelia Bones."

They got on with the court proceedings. James tried not to fidget.

"Normally, given that Mr. Potter is the child's blood relative, there would be no hearing whatsoever; however, recent events have sparked the interest of the Ministry, and it is therefore in the child's best interest to make certain that his guardian be of sound mental capabilities. Do you understand the reason the Ministry has called you here, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

James stood as Minerva's elbow dug into his side. "Yes, I understand," he said. He thumped back to the bench at Minerva's tug on his robes.

"Very well. Now, Professor Dumbledore, the court asks you why you believe the child should remain with his father."

Dumbledore stood and nodded politely. "I myself have performed Legillimency on Mr. Potter and believe him to be of sound mental and emotional capabilities," he said. "I am submitting into evidence a copy of James Potter's memory of the attack on Godric's Hollow, extracted by myself. I also submit into evidence a summary of my thoughts on Mr. Potter's mental state, written after extensive Legillimency, which was undergone willingly."

"Mr. Potter, do you agree with the statement that said Legillimency was performed with your consent?"

James didn't need Minerva's elbow to stand this time. "Yes, Madam Bones," he said. She nodded at him and he sat back down.

Madam Bones Summoned the memory and scroll from Dumbledore. She placed the memories aside and opened the scroll with Dumbledore's findings, skimming through it quickly. "This seems to be in order," she said, and placed it aside. "Have there been any medical examinations performed, so as to verify that there are or were no adverse physical side effects on Mr. Potter?"

James stood again. "Yes, Madam Bones," he said, desperately trying to remember what he was supposed to say. "I would like to submit for evidence my own medical records from November the eighteenth, which you can see include an extensive physical examination by Healer Rudolph Atwood, a Healer whom I had not met before that day, so as to provide an unbaised medical opinion. I also submit my medical history prior to that day, much of which was recorded by the Auror Medical Team, for comparison."

The scrolls left the table upon which he placed them and again, Madam Bones glanced over them. "Very well, this will do nicely. Is there anything else the witnesses would like to submit for evidence to the court?"

Minerva stood. "While I do not believe they are strictly necessary, I have here several written character witnesses of Mr. Potter to submit for evidence, including testimonies from various other Hogwarts Professors, and Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt." She placed a bundle of envelopes on the table for Madam Bones to Summon and read.

"Very well," she said again, after she had flipped through the envelopes. "Thank you, Professors, Mr. Potter. If there is no further evidence for submission, I call for a recess of two hours so I may review the evidence submitted and make a judgement." She paused for five seconds, then rapped her gavel once again. "Court is in recess for two hours. We will reconvene in this place." She stood, along with Patrice Edgecombe, and left the courtroom.

"Well done, James," Minerva said, and stood.

"That was it?" he asked, dazedly.

"Were you expecting the full Wizengamot?" she asked dryly.

"Sort of?" he said, at an utter loss. "What do we do now, then?"

"I believe there is time for a short meal, if you're hungry," Dumbledore said happily. "Otherwise, I'm afraid there isn't much else to do but wait for the recess to come to a close. Unfortunately, I told Minister Bagnold that I would meet with her today, and this seems to have provided the perfect opportunity. I shall see you in two hours." And with that, he marched off.

"Why so long?" James asked, trailing after Minerva.

"I suspect Amelia needs time to decipher the Healer-ese," Minerva said out of the corner of her mouth. "She never was well-suited to medicine."

James laughed incredulously. "So that's really all that it takes, then?"

"Yes, James, that's all it takes," she said. "Well done; I was afraid you'd lose your head in there and start shouting. Is it true that you and Barty Crouch rowed in the Auror Office?"

James grinned sheepishly, but did not answer. Minerva sniffed and marched down the hall.

000

When they reconvened, two hours later as requested, James felt simultaneously more confident and more nervous. He had done well, he thought, and the evidence seemed clearly in his favor.

He, Minerva, and Dumbledore all stood as Madam Bones entered the courtroom once more, hopefully for the last time. She glanced around, cataloging those present, and rapped her gavel on the desk. "This court is now in session," she said, and James sat.

"Mr. Potter, after reviewing the evidence submitted, I see no reason that you be declared unfit as a guardian. You will retain guardianship of your son by blood, Harry James Potter, barring any reason that may deem you unfit, whether that be mental, physical, medical, magical, or any other reason not listed." She tapped her gavel. "Court is adjourned."

She rose, and James imitated her. He felt relieved, and almost - but not quite - disappointed.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said as they left the courtroom.

"Thanks," James said, feeling bewildered. "I honestly wasn't expecting it to go that well," he confessed.

"Oh, James, the Ministry are, by and large, a group of fusspots who can't keep their noses out of anything," Minerva said, not bothering to keep her voice down. "You should know this by now."

James grinned.

Thanks for the reviews. Keep them coming - I have no idea if this story is working or not, otherwise!

I've got a couple more chapters lined up, then probably another brief hiatus. Cheers!


	10. Chapter 10

Somehow, life went on.

James started attending therapy sessions, after nightmares kept him awake all night and falling asleep at his desk. His counselor, a former Auror who looked like Kingsley Shacklebolt's younger brother, was patient and kind, but also didn't mince words. After a long, guilt-ridden monologue, where James bemoaned his Auror skills, fretted over the future, and ignored everything that they had discussed previously, Marcus sat forward and said "James, you've got to _use_ the plan of action. Right now, you're just reviewing the mission notes and not moving forward." They worked together, and the session ended with Marcus saying, "Now go out there and take down the bad guys."

And, eventually, things started getting better.

Then the Longbottoms were attacked.

* * *

"SILENCE," roared Dumbledore.

The entire room - what was left of the Order - immediately stopped talking. They were gathered at James's new house this time, chaos from the recent move multiplied by the sheer volume of bodies gathered around the magically-enlarged table.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said. He was pale, and almost looked shaken. "I shall speak plainly: Alice and Frank Longbottom have been attacked with the Cruciatus Curse. They are currently in St. Mungo's hospital, in the memory care ward. They are not expected to recover."

A horrible silence fell. The Longbottoms were beloved members of not only the Order, but the whole Wizarding community. Then, pandemonium broke.

"Who did it?" several people shouted.

"Where's Augusta?"

"Where's _Neville_?"

"Have we caught them?"

There was a loud series of bangs. James snapped round, wand out, but it was just Dumbledore, who had let off several vividly purple firecrackers.

"If you _please_," said Minerva, tears still fresh on her face. "Do not tempt me to Silence the lot of you." James's stomach dropped. He vaguely remembered Augusta and Minerva gossiping happily before (sometimes during) Order meetings. She'd viewed Frank and Alice like her own children sometimes, though she certainly hadn't favored either of them in school.

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "The suspects are in questioning now. The Brothers Lestrange, as well as Madame Bellatrix have been apprehended –" there was an audible hiss at the names; Dumbledore spoke over it – "as well as a fourth accomplice; one Barty Crouch Junior."

The hiss became a surge of muttering. Then questions and shouts started flying. Dumbledore let them wear themselves out, before saying, "As I have said. All four suspects have been apprehended. There will be a trial—" James imagined he saw Dumbledore glance at him "–but specifics are not yet known. I personally shall see to it that there is justice done."

For all that everyone _knew_ that Dumbledore was a powerful wizard, his kindly ways made it easy to forget that he was the man who had defeated Gellert Grindelwald. But now James saw a glimpse of his ferocity and depth of magical power and knew that if Dumbledore had the opportunity for a fair fight against any or all of the Longbottoms' attackers, there would be no survivors.

"What's going to happen to Neville?" someone called.

"Augusta shall take him," Dumbledore said promptly. "I daresay she could use company, though."

Several of Augusta's friends and distant relations nodded, resolute.

"However," Dumbledore said, "With the capture of the Lestrange and Mr. Crouch, that eliminates Voldemort's most dangerous supporters. Minerva, will you do the honors?"

She squared her shoulders. "Motion to disband the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Seconded," several people shouted immediately.

"All in favor?"

The vote was unanimous.

"Motion passed," Dumbledore said. "The Order of the Phoenix is hereby disbanded. But friends, I beg you to remain vigilant against the Dark. I fear it won't be long until we are needed once more."

The members of the now-disbanded Order of the Phoenix left James's house one by one, hugging each other, clasping hands, holding quiet conversations. The last to remain were Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"James, I would like to speak with you," he said.

"What about, Professor?" he asked.

"I'm afraid you won't like it. It concerns Harry's safety."

* * *

James, as a matter of fact, did _not_ like it.

"What do you mean, _live with _Petunia Evans?"

"Her surname is Dursley now, I believe," Dumbledore said absently, "and as I mentioned—"

"To hell with _her_ blood – what about mine? I stood in front of a curse for him – for _both of them_, as a matter of fact. And, if you recall, the highest court of law allowed me to retain my parenting rights." There was heavy sarcasm in the last sentence.

"And, if you recall, I am not asking you to turn him over entirely to her dubious mercies. But you _must_ understand, Harry has been marked with Darkness. It would be far too easy for the remaining Death Eaters to have a convenient _accident_, should they come across either of your whereabouts. Blood wards are by far the strongest that we know of, and it _will_ work."

"I'm not doing it." James's anger, which had been hot and bright at the beginning of the conversation, had shifted to something cold. Controlled. But no less ferocious. "I am Harry's parent - his _only_ parent. _I _make decisions about where he lives. _I _am the one in charge of his safety. Not some group that unanimously agreed to disband in front of my eyes." He glared at Dumbledore. "Excuse me, it's past Harry's bedtime."

He left without another word, purposely ignoring Dumbledore's tiny frown.

* * *

Remus, for the first time in a very long time, was rendered speechless.

"He suggested _what_?" he asked, once he'd remembered the Queen's English again and had stopped gaping like a fish. His voice was very calm and quiet, but underneath, barely perceptible, there was a true darkness.

James knew that voice. It was the same one he'd used on Sirius for two months after they'd almost gotten Snape killed.

"That Harry goes to live with Petunia," James said again. His hands were still shaking. "He said that blood wards are our only chance."

Remus frowned. "He's...not entirely wrong," he said slowly, "but that's not an excuse to separate a child from his father." He waved his wand absently at the dishes, which began to dry themselves. "What if he went to stay with her while you're at work?"

"Absolutely not." He glared at Remus. "And besides, it wouldn't work anyway. You know that the house that holds the blood wards needs to be the child's home. And it's not going to become Harry's home, not while he's got a perfect one already. Here. _With me_."

Remus shrugged once. "That's true," he said. "I'm sorry, Prongs, you're right. He shouldn't be allowed within 100 feet of Petunia, let alone that bush-faced elephant seal she calls a husband."

Dumbledore sent him an owl the next week. _I beg you to reconsider,_ the note read, _but you are correct that you are Harry's parent and will care for him admirably. Please do not hesitate to contact any of the Order if you require assistance._

James immediately set it on fire.

* * *

Thankfully, with the decrease in acts of terror and subsequent dissolution of the Order of the Phoenix, James didn't have to see Dumbledore at all. He was disappointed - he truly had respected Dumbledore as a leader and a teacher - but he appreciated the respite. He didn't think he could have a civil conversation with the older wizard any time soon.

Remus had settled into life as Harry's live-in nanny, more or less. James had passed his recertification exams with flying colors and had devoted himself to studying the justice system. He was determined that Sirius's stay in Azkaban would be as short as he could possibly make it.

"What Crouch did was _actually legal_," he fumed at Remus one evening, after Harry had gone to bed. "In a State of Emergency, the accused can just be sent to prison _without_ trial - of all the absolutely backwards…" his tirade faded into a swirl of profanity.

The next evening, he stormed from the study, in a towering rage.

"Even _Muggles_ agree with me," he said, utterly infuriated.

Remus blinked once. "They're not as dense as you make them sound," he said sarcastically.

James ducked his head, then looked up. "That was stupid of me," he said, temper cooling somewhat. "Sorry. The only difference between Muggles and Wizards is that one has magic and the other doesn't. Doesn't make one better than the other." He remembered why he'd been so mad, and frowned again. "Except for their legal system - look at this." He opened the enormous tome - was that a _law textbook?_ \- he was holding to a specific page.

"Here," he said. "Presumption of Innocence, _the burden of proof is on the one who declares, not on one who denies_. Muggles were practicing this in the _sixth _century, but Wizards are so ass-backwards that if a Muggle dares have a good idea, it's immediately discounted and rejected." He paced back and forth. "What's wrong with us?"

His tone was broken, confused. All of the anger had disappeared without a trace, and Remus didn't have an answer for him.

* * *

The not-so-good news: I have no idea when the next chapter will be available, and I'm going to stop making promises.  
the good news: I think this story will be about 20 chapters long, so Things should start Happening soon, plot-wise  
The better news: I already have a sequel in the works - I just need to, y'know, get there...

Thanks for reading! Please review :)


	11. Chapter 11

Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans! Happy December to everyone else-may your holiday preparations be relaxing :)

* * *

There was a new trial nearly every day. Work among the Aurors was nearly at a standstill, as so many of their reduced number were called to testify. Having been underground for over a year, James was never called to the stand.

He was desperate to watch the trials, but as one of the few Auror employees without open cases, he was stuck in his office with several months' backed-up paperwork.

James's hatred of paperwork was intense and permeating.

Nevertheless, he delved as deeply as he could into every open case that passed across his desk. After at least one brief (and never-to-be-acknowledged again) temper tantrum, James convinced himself that this was a better substitute for studying. He was learning a lot, to be fair, and this freed up more time in the evening to revise the things he practiced during the day.

Somehow, despite his keen interest in the trials, he managed to miss the fact that the Crouch hearing was scheduled until it was almost too late.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore waited by Courtroom ten with Alastor Moody.

He did not enjoy these hearings. Most of these accused had been his students, once upon a time, whether in his classes or in his school. He remembered the promise, the wit, the youthful antics of so many.

It wounded him to his core to witness against these former bright lights of the Wizarding World.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," he heard from behind him, very politely.

He turned. "Auror Potter," he greeted, equally cordially. "How may I be of service?"

James looked nervous, Dumbledore noticed. Nervous, but resolute. "I'd like to be here for the trial, if you don't mind," he said.

"That...may not be wise," Dumbledore said carefully. "Bartemius Crouch-"

"I'll hold my tongue, Professor," James said. "Use silencio, if you don't believe me. But I think I've earned the right to be here. I was friends with Alice and Frank too. I was in the Order with all of you." He looked pointedly at Alastor, then at Albus himself. "I'm not skiving off work. And," he added, sounding as though he'd hit upon an epiphany, "it'll be educational. I need to learn everything I can if I'm going to convince the courts that Sirius is innocent."

Alastor barked out a laugh. "Yeah, he's got your number, Albus."

Albus ignored the senior Auror standing next to him. "Very well," he said. "I trust you."

"Thank you," James said.

"But," Albus said, staring into James's eyes, "I reserve the right to remove you from the courtroom, magically silence you, or otherwise prevent you from interrupting the proceedings. Am I understood?"  
"Of course, Professor," James replied sincerely.

Albus paid close attention to not only the trial, but also to James. For his part, James scribbled furiously on the margins of the Daily Prophet, and, true to his word, didn't say a thing until the three accused were led out of the courtroom. He looked away as Barty's son was dragged away screaming and sobbing.

"Was it as educational as you were hoping?" Albus asked politely.

"I suppose so," James said. He was pale. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, Auror Moody. Excuse me, I've got to get back to work." He walked away.

* * *

James threw himself into studying. Not only was he reading up on various aspects of law and court proceedings, he was also attempting to remember various aspects of Auror work, things he hadn't had to look at since just before he and Lily had gone into hiding. He had Remus quizzing him on Auror codes, procedures, and regulations every evening, and after Harry was in bed, James would sit with a stack of law textbooks, borrowed from the Muggle library, for hours.

The justice system was broken. James saw that clearly. While their courts and legal proceedings were based on Her Majesty's rule, the simple fact was that two different dictators in a single century had taken its toll on the magical government. Its muggle counterpart was not perfect, but at least it existed.

He probably would have gone on like that until Remus emerged from his room one morning only to find James on the couch, asleep, slumped over his textbook.

He prodded James twice to wake him.

James blinked several times, finally recognizing Moony. He grinned. Then he blinked again, hard. Then he groaned and planted his face back into the (horribly wrinkled) pages of the textbook.

"I did it again," he said into the book.

"Clearly," Remus said, trying very hard to keep a neutral tone of voice. "Prongs, you said you would stop."

"I can't, though, there's too much-"

"I'm not going to do this now," Remus interrupted him, "especially since you've got ten minutes to get ready for work."

Miraculously, James was ready in exactly nine minutes.

"Moony, I'm-"

"Just…" Remus shook his head. "Just go, Prongs, we'll talk about this later."

James skidded out the door. It was a light week at the office, he could get ahead on reading for the Auror examinations so he could catch up on Muggle law and translating it to Magical court systems.

The rest of the workday passed uneventfully. James was able to spend time in the firing range, practicing his spellwork - he was well above the minimum requirements for casting, but more practice never hurt - before he went home.

* * *

Remus paced.

Supper had been cooked and eaten. Leftovers had been put away. The kitchen had been tidied, and so had the sitting room. Harry was in bed, and James was nowhere to be found.

So Remus paced, and he tried not to worry. He checked the calendar by the kitchen door, but Remus knew perfectly well knew that James didn't have any appointments scheduled. The Auror office wouldn't send him in the field until he'd passed his recertification exams. And yet, James was still conspicuously absent.

Remus would give him five more minutes. Then he would wake Harry, and Apparate to the Hog's Head.

Two minutes passed. Then three. Four. Remus collected Harry's things, and a pop broke the silence. He dropped the bag and pointed his wand at the figure who had just apparated, who turned around and grinned.

"Wotcher, Moony," James said.

"Oh, hello," Remus said, trying to keep his tone in check. "Have a nice evening? Anything interesting happen?"

"Nah," James said, "I just thought I'd hit the shooting range before I went home. Must've taken longer than I meant - sorry about that." His head was buried in the cupboards. "What's this?" He'd found the leftovers.

"Pasta with peanut sauce," Remus said through gritted teeth. "You got off work three hours ago."

James shrugged, mouth full of pasta. "Well, I did some reading at the office first, but I needed to make sure my skills reflected my brains." He smirked and struck a pose. "Ten percent improvement from my first qualifiers, I'll have you know."

"You're an idiot," Remus hissed. He slashed his wand at the bag's contents, which aggressively gathered themselves into a pile and threw themselves into their respective homes. "You didn't think about Harry, then? Or me?"

James stared at Remus. "I was studying, I told you that-"

"Oh, give it a rest," Remus said. "You don't actually need to prove yourself superior to the rest of the Aurors, or anyone else, you realize that? You aren't the savior of the magical world; you aren't even close."

James glared. "What, so you want me to leave Sirius to the Dementors?"

"I want you to get your priorities straight, James," Remus spat. "I want you to be a dad. I want you to be my friend again. I want you to go to therapy and play with Harry, and pass your exams. Sirius will have to wait a bit," he said, striving for gentle, but not sure he achieved it. He took a deep breath. "Sirius is important, but other things are important too right now, Prongs. You can't sacrifice your family for one man."

"I'm not sacrificing my family, I'm getting Sirius out of prison! I'm helping people, I'm trying to right wrongs and-"

"You're sacrificing the only family you've got left, you great blithering idiot," Remus said cooly. He couldn't believe how stupid a person could be. "Harry was asking for you, did you know? He didn't feel well, and you weren't there for him."

James's posture went from angry defiance to concerned parent. "Is he okay? What happened?"

"You'd know if you'd been here, wouldn't you?"

"Moony - Remus - please-"

He relented. "He's fine, he's just got some growing pains. I gave him a little tea and he fell asleep. But the point still stands, you're neglecting your son in favor of chasing a maybe."

James bristled. "I'm not-" He stared into the distance for a long minute. Then he nodded jerkily. "I, er. I need to send an owl."

Remus cocked his head to the side. "To whom?"

"Marcus. My counselor." He winced. "I may have, er, cancelled a therapy appointment."

"For God's sake." Remus clenched his teeth so hard he felt they might crack. "You skived off on one of the court-ordered conditions for retaining custody of your son?" [EM: As messed up as the Wizarding Court systems are, I do want them to have good family court. Mostly because they can't possibly be completely incompetent in every single area, right?] He could hear the overly-formal phrases, and knew he needed to stop before he did any more damage to their friendship. "Do what you need to do. I need to take a walk." He stormed out and only at the last minute remembered to not slam the door. James would deserve it if he had to deal with an overtired toddler, but Harry did need his rest.

He stood in the night air, cool with the proximity to the sea, and fumed, and paced. He decided to walk down towards the shore, and when he had calmed down sufficiently, he decided to take a long, meandering path home. He wanted to test something.

James was sitting down, staring at the kitchen table when Remus returned. James glanced up at Remus's entrance, then went back to staring at the table - no, something on the table. Lily's wedding ring.

Remus took a deep breath, then sat down too. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was a bit harsh there."

"A bit?" James commented dully. He didn't look up. "You're right, though. I'm being an idiot." He sniffed, and Remus realized he was crying. He reached out hesitantly, and gripped James's shoulder. James covered his face with his hands, but relaxed into Remus's touch.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice muffled. "I'm sorry."

Remus sat with him until his tears were spent.

"Better?" he asked.

James nodded, but did not speak.

Remus stood and rummaged in his pockets. He pulled out a chocolate frog and silently handed it to James, whose expression went shaky for a moment. Then he started making tea for them both.

"So what have we learned today?" Remus asked finally, once they had both drunk a cup.

James smirked. It was weak, but it was there. "That I need to get my head out of my arse."

"You're not wrong, but try again," Remus said. "What are you going to do differently?"

James sighed. "I'm not going to skip therapy," he offered.

"What else?"

"I'm going to focus on one thing at a time. I'm going to take a break from researching everything. I'm going to pass my qualifiers and then I'll dedicate a little bit of time to researching. I'm going to be home at normal hours, and I'll tell you if I can't make it straight away."

"Good," Remus said. He hesitated. "Prongs, there's something you should know."

"What's that?"

Remus didn't want to say it, but… "Someone was following me earlier."

* * *

Everyone, say hi to my new beta :) Tell her what a great job she did?


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This might be one of my favorite chapters I've written yet. Go to therapy if you need it, kids.

* * *

James frowned. "How do you know? Did you see them?"

Remus shook his head. "I didn't get a good glimpse; I think they were Disillusioned. Not well enough, though. And I could smell them," he added. Werewolves, even while in human form, had exceptionally good senses of smell.

James nodded. "Did they see the house?"

Remus shrugged uncomfortably. "I _think_ I was able to lose them before we got too close, but I can't be sure. The wind shifted."

"I know you said they were Disillusioned, but do you have any sort of description? It's all right if you don't."

Remus shook his head, feeling helpless. "Male, I think," he said. "It wasn't a great spell, and that's mostly going off of scent. He - they - had a cloak on, so I can't be sure."

James swore angrily. Remus watched him visibly take a deep breath. "All right, this isn't good, but I've got an idea," he said, once he'd calmed somewhat. "In the morning, I'll go to the office early and speak with someone from the DMLE. We'll put tighter wards on the property. We'll keep our heads down and be smart." He glanced at Remus guiltily. "You might not want to go on night walks much anymore," he said apologetically.

"Fine," Remus said. "Should we ask Dumbledore what he thinks?"

James shook his head. "He'll just want me to give Harry up to Petunia," he said. "We need to deal with this through the appropriate channels. No going off half-cocked, no shady mismanagement. The authorities know what they're doing."

Remus nodded. "All right," he said. "D'you think we should at least inform him? Or perhaps Minerva?"

"I'm not letting someone else manage my son's life," James said firmly, and there was no arguing with him when he took that tone.

He didn't really want to, if Remus was honest with himself.

* * *

The next morning, James did as he promised, and went to the other end of the corridor, towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement offices.

"Can I help you?" the bored receptionist asked. Then she actually looked at James, and blushed. "Oh - hello, Auror Potter."

"Hello, Melinda," James said warily. "I need to speak with someone about placing wards on personal property."

"Oh, have you been reinstated?" she asked breathily.

James only did not roll his eyes through supreme effort. "Something like that," he said. He did not want to get into this now. "I'm in a bit of a rush, actually. Is there someone I can speak with?"

"Oh, right, of course," she said. She stood up. "I can actually take you down to Robards's office if you'd like?"

"I know the way, thanks," James said, and left quickly.

The meeting was straightforward. Robards had James fill out a brief questionnaire, which was basically asking what types of protection James needed.

"You didn't fill out whether or not you need Muggle protection," he said.

James shrugged. "Just the standard for a Wizarding family. Notice-Me-Not charms 'round the hedges, so they don't pay attention to the gnomes and the like."

Robards chuckled. "You're near your neighbors?"

James shrugged again. "More or less. I've got a little over two acres, so it's more land than house."

"Good, that'll make it easier." He studied the diagram of the property that James had brought along, and nodded. "Based on what you told me, we won't need the heavy-duty Muggle-Repelling charms, but I'd put some light ones up anyway, just to make things easier, in case someone wanders onto your property when they shouldn't." He glanced at the diagram again. "Intruder charm around your property, I think, and all adults who reside there should be familiar with the Room-Sealing Spell, in case of any intrusion." He looked at James. "You don't want this to be restrictive to your day-to-day life, I assume?"

"Correct," James said.

"Then we'll leave the _Fianto_ series for later, if you need it. But let's just stick with some stronger _Repello Muggletum_, Intruder Charms, and _Salvio Hexia _'round the perimeter. I'd also suggest Imperturbable on all entrances and exits. You'll need to renew every three months at least, though I'd suggest once a month to be on the safe side. Have you connected to the Floo Network yet?"

"Not yet, but we're planning on it," James said. "The house belonged to Muggles before we bought it."

"If and when you register, I'd suggest giving the house a name, them," Robards said. "If someone's been following you, they'll know your address, and it would be all too easy to intrude that way. You'll want to set up an alarm for that, if not a full password."

"I hadn't thought of that," James said.

Robards grinned wryly. "Few do." He stood, and James followed suit. "Need any help casting?"

"No, I think I'll be all right." The two men shook hands.

"Oh, did you hear?" Robards said casually. "Crouch has been transferred. Department of International Magical Cooperation."

James blinked. "Really? Why's that?"

Robards shrugged. "Officially, his translation skills were needed elsewhere. Unofficially?" He shrugged again. "Well, would _you_ trust someone who went and sent his only son to the Dementors?"

James shook his head. "I suppose I wouldn't," he said.

"Yeah," Robards said. "Honestly, the only surprise is that it went through so quickly. I heard a rumor that he's still angling for Minister come next election, though."

James scoffed. "Yeah, _that'll_ happen." He waved the parchment at Robards. "Anyway, thanks for the suggestions."

"Thanks for coming by." The two men parted ways.

* * *

_James,_

_Glad you're doing all right. I was worried about you when you cancelled our last session. Got even more worried when you didn't reschedule. I've got an open appointment slot on Thursday morning - you'll just need to Floo-call my office and get it on the books. Take care of yourself. I'll see you soon._

_Marcus Sampson  
Mind-Healing Unit,  
St. Mungo's Hospital_

James sighed and dropped the letter on his desk. Marcus didn't judge and didn't ask questions, which suited James just fine. He had a feeling he'd be in for a mild rebuke on Thursday, though.

On Thursday morning, James felt _smaller_ than he had in a long time, sitting across from Marcus in his office.

"How was your week?" Marcus asked, nonchalantly.

"It - fine, I suppose."

"Anything interesting happen?"

"Not particularly." James stared at Marcus suspiciously. "Why aren't you telling me off?"

Marcus scribbled a note, then met James's gaze. "Would it be helpful?"

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," he acknowledged.

"Then I'll just remind you that I'm here to help you and leave it at that." Marcus set down James's file. "So d'you want to answer my earlier questions?"

James's lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "What were they?"

Marcus listened attentively to James as he explained the intricacies of the wards that he and Moony had erected around the perimeter of their home.

"Why did you go to all that trouble?" he asked.

So James explained the mysterious follower from Remus's walk.

"And yet, you told me earlier that nothing interesting happened this week." Marcus shook his head. "James, I understand that you've had what cannot be described as a _normal life_ so far, but come on man, I know you're smarter than this."

James shrugged. "I don't think I am," he said honestly. "I'm an Auror. I fought Voldemort personally, four times. I'm always going to have my eyes open for Dark forces, it's just part of who I am by now."

Marcus nodded, conceding the point. "Then you need to be better," he said. "It's like you're flying in a tight race, only you've got a load of rocks holding your broom back. It's not fair, no one said that. It's just how things are. Think about the Aurors you've known - do they seem like absolute nutters, or have they adjusted?"

Immediately, a madman's snarling _CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_ echoed in James's head, but he tried to actually follow Marcus's directions.

"Well, Mad-Eye notwithstanding," he said at last, and Marcus snorted a little. "I suppose Kingsley and Robards seem...normal, or at least they're not…"

Marcus waited. "They're not what, James?" he prompted after several long seconds.

"They're not broken, not like me," James said. He couldn't look at Marcus again.

"Yes they are," Marcus said firmly. James looked up.

"But they're not-"

"_Yes_, they are." Marcus stared at James. "Without violating confidentiality, I can tell you that you're not the first Auror to walk through those doors and you certainly won't be the last. And if not _my _doors, then someone else's." James glanced away.

"James, you volunteered to walk into the Darkest that wizardkind has to offer. You're going to break in this job; if you didn't, I'd have you committed to St. Mungo's myself because only a sociopath could witness the horrors that humanity does to each other and not feel something."

"They don't tell you this in training," James said forlornly.

"No, they don't," Marcus agreed. "But every Auror that I've seen come and go have agreed that doing the job well is not wasted time. So take that as you will."

"I don't know if I believe you yet," James said. "But I suppose I trust you."

"Have you gotten through the requalifiers yet?" Marcus asked. "Once you've got a partner - a mentor, hopefully - you'll see that we're all a bit broken."

"Not yet, but I'm nearly through the revision materials," James said.

They discussed the exams for a while. "I feel confident," James said at one point. "I feel like it'll be difficult, but I'm not dreading them."

"And then what are you going to spend your time on?" Marcus asked.

"Getting Sirius out of Azkaban," James answered promptly.

Marcus nodded. "D'you have strategies for if you start to hyperfocus?"

"I'll set timers. I'll sleep."

"And Floo me or owl me if you need."

"Right, yeah." James fell silent again.

"Something else on your mind?" Marcus asked.

James sighed. "I dunno," he said at last. "I suppose the Barty Crouch stuff has just got me down."

"Yes, I'd heard about that," Marcus said. "Not pleasant, is it?"

"No," James said. He looked up. "I don't understand how a dad could sentence his only son to those _things_." He shook his head. "It's not right."

"It's not," Marcus agreed. "But it's good that Crouch isn't in any position to become Minister now, yeah?"

James nodded. "Yeah, it is, and I'm glad for that, but…" he shook his head.

"But?" Marcus prompted after a minute.

"But - I dunno, I suppose I wanted to think that he wasn't all bad - even though he is a prick," he muttered.

"Crouch Jr. did do some terrible things," Marcus said. "Maybe he'll find repentance in Azkaban, or maybe he won't. Maybe Crouch Sr. will grow some compassion, without the spotlight on him. But," he stared at James. "You can't solve this problem. Focus on one thing at a time, and keep your priorities in line. After all, you have a son of your own to raise."

* * *

Officially, Wizarding England no longer supported the death penalty. Unofficially, those deemed too dangerous to reintegrate into society were all sent to Azkaban's maximum security wing to die.

Meals on Azkaban were nothing special. Twice daily, food was magicked into the prisoners cells, in much the same way that the golden plates and goblets at Hogwarts were filled. Only here, there was no distinguishable difference between the meals. It was all grey and held the nutrients needed for human survival. A water pitcher was always kept full, though it was too small for any of the inhabitants to drown themselves, and once out of the goblet, the conjured water disappeared unless consumed by a creature.

The place was kept consistently at 16C, though the perceived temperature fluctuated wildly, depending on whether a dementor was near. And it was slightly damp. And dark. Always dark, even on the very occasional day that the watery sun showed itself through the one high, tiny window.

Nothing was good. Everything was despair.

James and Lily were dead, Remus hated him, Peter was a traitor, and wherever Harry was, it couldn't be good. And Sirius was in prison.

_And I didn't even do anything wrong._

He didn't do anything wrong. Peter did.

_Someday I will get out_, he promised himself, _and I will make him pay._

* * *

Everyone, say hi to my new beta, Kare!


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